


Of Weeds and Strange Traditions

by octopus_fool



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa doesn't know the customs of some of the festivals celebrated in King's Landing. Luckily, Margaery is there to demonstate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Weeds and Strange Traditions

Sansa looked watched the people milling about the Queen’s Ballroom where they were celebrating a holiday she didn’t know. She had thought about asking about the background for the holiday but hadn’t wanted to show yet another weakness.

Luckily, Joffrey seemed to be occupied and she hadn’t seen him in quite some time. Right now, Sansa’s only problem was the discomfort of standing alone when everyone around her was immersed in conversation.

“Are you having a good time?”

Sansa turned around to see Margaery Tyrell smiling at her.

“Yes, thank you,” Sansa smiled at Margaery. “The food is splendid and the decorations are lovely. I’m having a wonderful time.”

“That’s good,” Margaery replied, scrutinizing Sansa’s face. “It would be even better if I actually believed you.”

Before Sansa could reply, Margaery offered her arm. “Walk with me? I could use some fresh air.”

Sansa accepted and they made their way towards the door, Margaery pausing occasionally to nod at someone or exchange a few friendly words.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them. The murmur of voices was still audible through the thick wooden doors, but otherwise, there was silence except for the rustling of their silk robes as they walked down the hallway.

“We never celebrated this in Winterfell,” Sansa admitted. “I know the twisted red candles symbolize something, as do the glass ornaments. It is all very pretty, but completely foreign and meaningless to me. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. And then there are these,” she pointed at the green twig with white berries hanging in an alcove. “I’ve seen them all over the keep. The maids giggle and whisper when they pass them and I don’t understand why.”

“These mistletwigs?” Margaery released Sansa’s arm and stepped underneath the twig with an elegant flourish. “I thought they are common in the North?”

“They are. They grow in the great oak trees like pests. Our maester claimed they have healing properties. I don’t see why anybody would decorate a castle with weeds.”

One corner of Margaery’s mouth curled upwards and Sansa felt her mouth go dry. She wondered if it was because Margaery resembled her brother Loras. Then again, the similarities weren’t that great. “There’s an old tradition when two people meet below a mistletwig. Come here, I’ll show you.”

Sansa hesitated for a moment and then complied. She was acutely aware of how closely they were standing. Margaery’s grin turned into something gentler and Sansa averted her eyes, feeling color rise to her face.

“I-“

“Shh. Trust me.”

Gentle hands settled on the sides of Sansa’s face, carefully tilting her head upwards to meet Margaery’s pale blue eyes. Then soft lips were kissing her and became the only thing that mattered.

When Margaery drew away, Sansa found herself leaning after her. She blinked. There was a smudge of lighter lipstick on Margaery’s rose-colored lips.

“Wh- You… why? But what if… could we…?”

Margaery softly pressed a finger over Sansa’s lips.

“Shh. I think that was enough for tonight. Give it some consideration. When you know what you want, you know where to find me.”

She gave Sansa a soft smile and pressed a tender kiss onto her cheek. She hesitated for a brief moment, then straightened and walked away, her silk dress rustling.

Sansa reached a trembling hand to where Margaery’s lips had met her face. With weak knees, Sansa sank onto the bench in the alcove.


End file.
